


No Treaty

by copperbadge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frenemies, M/M, Wingfic, animagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-05
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's attempt at animagery does not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Treaty

If he had one person to choose as a confidante, Harry Potter would not have been it. 

Unfortunately, Potter had no life outside of sulking around the castle looking martyred, and liked to go roaming in the Forbidden Forest. Well, with a name like that, Draco had to admit, it was an awfully big temptation. Besides, it had all the good secret hiding spots, and Draco was keen on secret hiding spots. 

Except of course that secret hiding spots were no good without someone to keep the secret with and, at the same time, no good if they did not actually keep you secret and/or hidden. 

"Jesus Christ," Potter said. Draco had a vague idea that Jesus Christ was a concept attached to the Muggle version of Christmas, when Muggles gave each other babies and sheep. He thought perhaps it was what you said when you gave someone a baby, which was a pretty good swearword, considering how much trouble babies were. Not that sheep were much less trouble, but they didn't require diapering and produced useful things like wool and mutton.

"Listen, I didn't ask you to come here and ogle me," Draco answered. 

"No, I mean, holy fuck, really," Potter said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Draco fought down the urge to snap them in half and demand the poor wanker get something less geek-chic, possibly some Gucci frames. "What'd you do to yourself?"

Draco closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. Treaty. A treaty. They'd made a treaty after sixth year. He had agreed not to be a complete arse if Harry agreed not to be a wanker. Granted, Harry was being a wanker, but Draco could be the bigger man. 

"What does it look like?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

Harry circled him, studying him a little too keenly. "Listen, if you didn't like riding broomsticks you could have just quit the team. It's not like your dad's going to yell at you about it."

Treaty. They'd made and signed a treaty. They'd actually written it up with several subordinate articles defining Wanker and Arse. Hermione and Pansy had helped when things got touch-and-go over whether "teasing Neville in Snape's Class" applied only when Snape had actually arrived, or before and after class as well. He counted to ten again.

"Go away, Potter."

"No, seriously, Malfoy, what did you do to yourself?"

Draco flopped down on the ground. 

"Is it some kind of hex? Hermione's wicked at hexbreaking," Harry offered. Draco reached over to where his shirt, pack, and several books were piled haphazardly, and threw one of the books at him. He caught it. Damned natural-born Seeker. 

"Draco...."

"Shut up, I know," Draco said miserably. 

"This is really advanced stuff..."

"I said I know!"

Harry licked his index finger and flicked to the bookmarked pages.

"Oh, Malfoy," he said, condescendingly. "Animagery?"

"I don't suppose you'd know anything about it. It's only your godfather AND your dad AND you're a fucking genius," Draco snapped.

"Not enough to fix this," Harry said. He circled around back in front of Draco and held out his hand. Draco crossed his arms over his bare chest (which was starting to get cold) and looked away pointedly. Warm fingers gripped his left biceps and Harry hauled him up by the arm. 

The enormous muscle-wrenching wings sprouting from Draco's back fluttered instinctively to keep his balance, blowing their hair into disarray. Small downy feathers, the same white-gold shade as Draco's hair, drifted to the ground. Even standing, the wings were still taller than he was. 

"What do you reckon you're supposed to be?" Harry asked. Draco, with enormous effort, marshalled the unfamiliar new tendons and bones into some semblance of furling against his back.

"I was trying for a swan," he muttered.

Harry laughed so hard he snorted. Draco's lip curled in vague distaste.

"A swan?" Harry asked, through his horsey laughter.

"Yes, thanks very much. Swans can kill people with their wings, you know," Draco retorted. Treaty, can't break the treaty, we spent weeks on the treaty....

"Yeah, but it's not very....I mean, it's not exactly a manly sort of an animal, is it?" Harry asked. 

"Swans are beautiful and vicious and can kill a person with their wings," Draco said dangerously. "I'm willing to bet I am still all those three things."

"Christ, I suppose it could have been worse, imagine if you'd been stuck with webbed feet..."

"Very funny, Potter."

Harry composed himself with difficulty. "All right, come on, we'll take you up to the hospital wing and have Professor McGonagall take them off."

"So you and all your Gryffindor cronies can have a good laugh? I think not. I'm staying here." Draco threw himself down again. One of the tips of his furled wings banged painfully on a rock, tingling as if he'd hit his funnybone. 

"You can't stay here forever."

"Watch me."

"Malfoy, you've got to come back to the school and have them looked at."

"I do not. I'll steal food from the kitchens in the dark of night and live in a tree."

Harry rolled his eyes and flopped down next to Draco. 

"So do they work?" he asked.

"What?"

"The wings, moron. Do they work?"

"I didn't have a chance to try them out before you showed up and started reducing my opinion of you even further," Draco answered.

"I wasn't aware that was possible."

"I didn't know what a stupid laugh you had until just now."

"So are you going to try them out or not?" Harry asked.

"Not with you around."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it would be really pathetic if you had wings and I could still outfly you," Harry said.

"Your reverse psychology does not work on me," Draco answered. 

"You're a lot less fun to fuck with than you used to be."

"Yes, well, I apologise that my world doesn't revolve around you anymore, Potter, but you're the one who suggested the treaty."

"I said we should grow up and stop being so horrible to each other."

"No, that's what Granger said. You repeated it because she wouldn't help you in Potions otherwise."

"Who told you that?"

"I'm not an idiot, Potter. If I don't fascinate you with scintillating evil, you'll excuse me, but I'm having an off day."

"I never said you didn't fascinate me, Malfoy."

Harry had leaned back in the thick grass of the clearing and was staring up at the sky, slowly turning blue-purple-black as they sat there freezing their nipples off -- at least in Draco's case -- and missing dinner. 

"Obsession is unhealthy," Draco replied.

"Physician, heal thyself. You're the one who pulled my pigtails first."

"What on earth are you on about?"

"Schoolyard crushes," Harry said, apparently to the treetops. "If you like a girl you pull her hair."

Draco mulled this over.

"No," he said finally. "No, I'm fairly sure that's a bad idea. I think if you like a girl you should cease all hair-pulling activities at once." 

"I don't like girls," Harry answered, still staring straight up. 

"I can't wait to tell the Prophet," Draco said drily. He pulled his legs up underneath him, crouched, and leapt straight up into the air. It took a split second, in which he felt himself nearly fall back to earth, but once he arched his back and flexed a few new muscles, the pale wings snapped open and beat the air powerfully, thrusting him upwards like a springboard -- so far so fast, in fact, that he was afraid he'd fall if he didn't manage it again. He waggled his arms, frantically, before re-locating the proper muscles to thrust him upwards. 

"Accio Firebolt," he heard from somewhere below, and soon Potter was plaguing him once more, chasing after him as he learned to navigate, pulling stupid tricks on his stupid broomstick. 

Draco let him dart close enough to think he could possibly catch him, then skittered away, turning a somersault through the air. Harry dove after him, and before he knew what was happening -- 

"OW!" he shouted, twisting in the air. Behind him, Harry zoomed away with a fistful of pinfeathers clenched in one hand. Without them, he was slightly uneven, but he gave chase until they were skimming along the grass of the Quidditch pitch, Harry's knees almost brushing the ground. 

Draco gained and passed him, smacking him upside the head so hard that Harry tumbled off the broomstick, turning head-over-heels while Draco laughed, swung his legs forward, and landed gracefully. When he offered Harry a hand up, he was pulled to the ground instead.

"I think it's time we negotiated a new treaty," Harry said, fingers sliding up and over the ridge of Draco's wings. 

"Oh?" Draco asked, straddling his thighs.

"Yeah. We didn't include hair and feather pulling in the last one."

"Or fucking," Draco said bluntly. Harry rolled his eyes. 

"I'm trying to be romantic, here."

"I'm not."

"Some swan you would have ma -- " Harry began, but Draco, however new at having wings, was not new at other things, and his new centre of balance was helping matters. He flicked the tips of his wings and slid forward slightly.

"You were saying?" he asked. Harry bucked his hips. Draco's wings twitched. 

"New treaty," Draco said, leaning down to whisper in Harry's ear. Harry's hands threaded in his hair.

"No treaty," he replied, against Draco's mouth.


End file.
